Merlyn
by Josephine1
Summary: Part One in the Prynne Series. Meet Merlyn Apperstaff, whose actions bring about the horrible death of her parents and whose existence could be the downfall of an entire family.
1. Prologue

1 Merlyn  
  
2  
  
3 Prologue  
  
What makes my story so different from any other kid these days, you might ask? What makes mine so special? I don't know really. I've read about girls like me in books before. Girls whose lives were filled with tragedy, deceit, and heartache. Maybe that is what makes me so special; I share that bond with them. In some way, I identify with each of them.  
  
  
  
Have you ever wondered what hell is like? Ask me, I know. I created hell and I brought it willingly to the people I loved around me. Apparently, though, I am a product of my heritage. I have not found it yet, but I am convinced there is a manual out there that describes every trait and action that my family is capable of. We apparently live to bring misery down upon our heads; sometimes intentionally, sometimes not. Either way, my family lives in a world of tragedy. We are cursed by it.  
  
A family's secrets seem to be all that some people have. Mine were protected by a name. Lies are sacred; prestige is part of our mantra. What no one knows is that my family's name is "Deceit", for that is our way. 


	2. Chapter One

"Merlyn?" I turned my head slightly to the direction of his voice and allowed a curt smile to form. I could see his large frame moving around the benches to the one I had taken over by the fountain.  
  
"Dr. Granger."  
  
He sat down in an adjacent bench, thankfully respecting my wish for distance. I noticed that today he had brought a small notebook and a pen. "So is today a good day or a bad day?" He smiled, a genuine smile, one that did not hold any hidden meaning. I stared at the notebook, wondering what he would write down. Would that be where my secrets would soon be stored? I didn't realize I had been holding my breath until he spoke again, his tone a little more jovial. "I'm not as young as you are, Merlyn. If I don't take notes, I might fail the exam later."  
  
I couldn't help but laugh. I had only been. awake. for about a week and I was surprised myself by my own laughter. How could I laugh? There was only one reason. "Today is an. okay day." I looked at him hopefully.  
  
"Okay is a good start, Merlyn." I took another breath as he crossed his long legs, revealing that his socks didn't really match the light blue long sleeved shirt that he was wearing. Dr. Granger didn't really fit the picture of most psychiatrists' that I had seen in movies. He always wore jeans, never a lab coat. Sometimes he wore tennis shoes but today he had on a pair of brown loafers and brown socks. Dr. Granger had a face and demeanor that just compelled me to trust him. At first I was a little afraid of him because he was so tall, so much taller than myself but he would be the first in a long time to earn my trust so freely. He had broad shoulders and was a tiny bit overweight. I would note later that he always tried to hide his stomach by not tucking in his shirts. He never seemed to mind about his balding head though; there wasn't much left on the top, a few strands that seemed to be holding on for posterity. On the sides he kept his dark brown hair trimmed very close to the scalp. I think the only reason that he had grown the beard was to make him look distinguished to his patients.  
  
I looked up and around the conservatory. Despite my trust of him, his office had made me nervous. If I wanted I couldn't get away from him in his office. Here in the conservatory I could. Lush beauty, benches, and fountains surrounded us and even though it was inside, there was a small patch of grass in the center of the large glass structure. No one ever stepped on the grass, I noticed. We all walked around it as if it were some magical piece of earth that we were afraid of but then again I had only been "awake" for a short while. I liked the fountain, though. It was peaceful and set apart from the rest of the conservatory. I could be alone, which for now is what I wanted. I had so many thoughts running through my head that the silence that came with that corner of the large glass structure was calming.  
  
"You've been here every day they say," I just looked at him, no emotion on my face, wondering if I was supposed to reply to that. "Not many of the people here want to be this secluded, despite what they say." He smiled; I knew he was trying to encourage me.  
  
We sat a few more minutes; the only sound was the trickle and splash of the water moving over the five tiers of the concrete fountain. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him move to say something else but I interrupted him, noting the look of surprise on his face.  
  
  
  
Unconsciously, I fiddled with the tie on my dark blue terry cloth robe. I had kicked off my slippers earlier, before the good Doctor had come and sat down. "I had such a happy childhood at first. I guess I had one of those American dream upbringings. My parents.my parents. they were good people, successful. He was a professor at a community college, so I was convinced that he knew everything there ever was to know. My mother, she was a veterinarian. We lived in a suburb on the west side of Atlanta, Magnolia Estates. Have you ever heard of it?" I dipped one hand in the water of the fountain. We weren't supposed to get that close to it but I didn't care. It felt cool on my skin, almost chilly. I wished I could dip my whole body in the water. It had been so long since I had felt that kind of freedom.  
  
The doctor never answered my question but I think he knew that I had not meant for him to reply. "It's a nice neighborhood. Brick houses, mostly two-story, the Parson's at the end of Hobstop, my street, have a one- story. Grass green yards with chain link fences to enclose the backyard; lampposts that had been held over from the 40's at the end of every walkway. If the city itself weren't 20 minutes away, you would have thought we lived in the country. The trees grow so thick that it creates a canopy over most of Hobstop. We have this large oak in our front yard; Dad always made me rake in the winter when the leaves started to fall. I hated that." I laughed lightly recalling the times when he and I would argue about it.  
  
"It's all my fault that it all changed. 


	3. Chapter Two

1989  
  
Somewhere along the way, the three of us had all unconsciously agreed to a silent trip. Occasionally, I would hear Mom sniff, holding back the tears that had seemed non-stop since we had all decided I needed to go away to school for awhile. I spent the entire ride reliving the past three years; I barely noticed when we stopped for lunch.  
  
I couldn't help but wonder.really. what had gotten me to this place in my life? Who had chosen me to be the lucky one to screw it all up? I knew the answer to the 64,000-dollar question, though, it was me. All me. Sometimes my overly curious mind should shackle itself and throw itself into the dungeon, because that's where it belongs. My maddening spiral towards self-destruction and ultimate destination for a one-way ticket to the camp for screw ups had led me here. Instead of the interstate scenery whizzing past my window, I saw the last three years replaying itself like a movie outside the car window.  
  
I guess I was eleven when I was home one afternoon alone, which wasn't that rare but I remember this time I felt even more alone than before. My father had gone off on some teacher's conference in New York and my mom was at work. She worked a half day on Saturday's at the animal clinic a few blocks from where our neighborhood was. Mom had always called me her little detective, partly because I was always asking 'why?' and partly because I was always investigating something.  
  
This particular afternoon I was using their office as a prop in my detective agency game. I was Lola Fontaine, a character out of my favorite mystery series. She was the genius and beautiful siren of a detective and often likened herself to Sherlock Holmes. She was bold and brassy and I liked her all the more for it. Actually, my parent's office had been serving as a combination of locations. It was not only my agency but also the location of some evil-doing, so naturally any good detective would have to go through the desk drawers, filing cabinets, and bookshelves.  
  
What I didn't know was that on this particular day an eleven-year-old girl would make a discovery that she should never have known. I remember so vividly as I discovered that one of the drawers in my father's desk had a false bottom. I don't know why I had never noticed it before; I had always been so meticulous in my searches of their rooms. Whichever of my parents had been in the drawer last had not made sure that all of the papers were tucked neatly in the bottom of the drawer. Slowly I had removed the folders, making sure to note how they had been arranged. I had to go and retrieve a knife from the kitchen to help me lift the bottom up.  
  
I didn't know what to do; the walls had started closing in on me. My breath became rapid; I could hear the blood in my ears. It was like the ocean rushing through my head, dragging me down towards the riptide. I didn't remember putting everything back. I didn't remember leaving my house and riding my bike down towards my old elementary school. What I did register at the time was Bunky Miller and one of his cronies rescuing me from getting caught by the law. IN my anger, I had decided that throwing rocks through the school windows was a wise way to release myself.  
  
Bunky Miller, I would find out later, would be true undoing. Everyone knew that he was heavy into drugs; he had his own brother, who was two years older than myself, dealing for him. Bunky was six years older than me and had dropped out of high school as soon as he hit sixteen. Now he spent most of his time, working in a pool hall in down town Atlanta and dealing at raves to kids.  
  
I'm not sure where along the lines I had become so attached to Bunky and his gang. But slowly I pulled away from my old friends and my parents. The fact that my parents apparently ascribed my new moods to puberty enraged me even more and I set myself on a path to do everything in my power to defy them.  
  
The next three years rushed over the car window as if in fast-forward but I had already read the script. I knew what happened. I knew how it ended. I had almost sampled every drug known to man. I don't think I had a favorite, just anything that removed the pain of my true birth. I had experienced sex for the first time by the time I was twelve. Unfortunately for my youth, I had an insatiable appetite for it.  
  
I stayed in trouble with my parents, spending more time grounded for some vandalism that I had committed with my new group of friends than actually trying to get over what began it all. I'm sure other kids didn't react the way I had when they found out they were adopted.  
  
But I couldn't help but feel betrayed and abandoned. My parents prided themselves on never lying to me and in that one afternoon I had started counting the lies. Soon they had come crashing down upon me.  
  
My rushing video stream came to a halt suddenly on a night that I was hoping to forget. I sat there on the bathroom floor in Bunky's house. I was already wasted on some horrible combination of alcohol and some pills; I have no idea what they had given me. I did know that it had made me feel like I was floating. I watched as I laughed at some pitiful joke that a girl made. She was lying in the tub, a bottle of gin resting between her legs. Bunky's younger brother, Danny, came in, kissed me sloppily on the mouth. I feebly tried to push him away but at the same time relishing in his touch. I told him that Bunky would be pissed if he knew that his brother was making a pass at his girl. He laughed and started unrolling a piece of cloth.  
  
The girls voice was coming through as if in a fog. "Oh goody," was what she had said. I knew what it was; I had seen Bunky use it but I had never tried it myself. The girl helped Danny get my arm ready as he prepared the needle. "You're gonna love this honey," she whispered before kissing me quickly. And I did, I watched as my body slowly sunk and a smile came across my face. Actually it was more like this clownish grin.  
  
Before long it was apparent to several of my friends that I wasn't moving. I was barely breathing. Danny was panicking as he ran for his brother who slapped him repeatedly for putting too much in the needle. I had overdosed; I was dying. Bunky hefted my limp body over his shoulder and ran to his car. He threw me in the back seat. His brother Danny was crying in the front seat as Bunky kept hitting him for being 'so stupid!'  
  
I watched as his car sped into the emergency bay of a hospital where it didn't take long for Bunky to drop me and run. He stayed in trouble with the law and he didn't want them to know he was involved in anything like this.  
  
I was in a coma for two weeks after that. The day I woke up, I was alone and hungry. My throat felt like sandpaper and I could have sworn my lips crackled when I opened my mouth. I tried sitting up but the room started to spin so I felt that it would be better to lie there. I looked down at my arms, the bruises showed where Danny had tried several times to find a vein. It was obvious it had been the first time he had ever done something like that.  
  
Finally, I called for a nurse. She came in hurriedly, thinking it might be someone else in my room but was surprised to discover that it was me. She wanted to call my parents immediately but I forced her to sit and explain to me what had happened. I remembered how good it felt to have her hold my hand as I cried. IN that moment, I had one of those epiphanies in which the damned person realizes the errors of their ways.  
  
I had almost died. I was only fourteen and I had almost died. I hadn't even begun to live. I wanted to do so much, I wanted college, I wanted to travel, I wanted to experience life to make up for the few years that I had lost. Most of all I wanted my parents back. Knowing I needed someone to talk to, the nurse had called a social worker to come and talk to me. The social worker, Amy Perkins, was a nice lady. She was very tall and thin, almost as tall as my dad. She smiled brightly when she entered my room, "Hi there," she started as she perused my medical chart. "I'm Amy Perkins. You can call me Amy. Everyone does. I got a call said you might need to talk to me."  
  
I had stammered through the Cliff Notes version of my story. We both agreed something had to change. I had heard of places that kids went when they got into too much trouble but had no idea what they would be like. I remembered how she had seemed surprised that I suggested I go to a place like that. It was then that my parents had rushed into the room, smothering me with hugs and tears. The four of us had sat and talked until eventually I fell asleep, exhausted from just a few hours awake. 


End file.
